


Fixing the Paperwork Problem

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 10:59:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/797907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sandburg is on his own for the day without Ellison, and Simon loans him out.  Uh oh.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fixing the Paperwork Problem

 

## Fixing the Paperwork Problem

#### by Tazy

  
  
I wrote this for a contest in 2001. I have no idea if I even entered it in the contest or if I did something else with it later.  


* * *

"Damn piece of crap."

"You said that before," the young officer said helpfully.

Blair Sandburg let his eyes leave the road long enough to drop the Glare of Death on his companion. Not that it did much good. The lad was clueless. Or had achieved perfect balance with the universe, in a pure state where....

Nah. He was clueless. Sandburg shifted. The barge slowed. Traffic was a bitch. Figured.

"We've made good time," said Officer Kevin Kelley.

They hadn't. Sandburg was trapped with a perfect optimist. For his sins. He was going to apologize to Jim when he got home, for every cheerful upbeat comment he had ever made.

They'd been on the road two hours. It was starting to get to him.

It had started out such a normal day. He'd been at his desk, his first cup of coffee in front of him, right next to a stack of paperwork that showed an amazing resemblance to the Leaning Tower of Pisa, both in height and the precarious slant it was acquiring. Jim was in Seattle, testifying before a grand jury and his partner had been left behind to tackle the accumulation of paperwork. The down side to having a great closure rate was more paperwork. He and Jim literally had more paperwork than any other team of officers in the entire state. They needed their own secretary. Yeah. Like that was going to happen.

From the office of Simon Banks came a bellow of command. "Sandburg! My office!"

Well sure. Just typical. Right. He grabbed up his coffee up and trotted to his doom. He knew it wouldn't be anything good coming his way when Simon's voice rose like that, but he hadn't realized it would be actual doom.

"Sandburg, you can drive a truck, haul a flatbed trailer, right? And you've got the license?"

But Simon _knew_ the answer to that. So. It was always a bad sign when the captain asked rhetorical questions. What was going on?

"Yes."

Simon nodded. It gave Sandburg time to take a gulp of his coffee, which was at that perfect stage of drinkability that only lasted a few minutes.

"You're being conscripted."

"I'm what?"

"Borrowed. The guy who was going to drive some evidence down to Collville is in the hospital with a broken leg. He was supposed to leave half an hour ago. They need somebody on short notice who is a cop, can drive a semi, and who isn't stupid. Your name came up on the short list and Evidence called to see if you were available."

"I'm not. I have paperwork," he suggested, hopefully. He tried to sound eager to get back to it. And boy did that feel weird.

"You got debts to pay. Or need I remind you?"

"No, no. Don't remind me."

Simon grinned and did it anyway. "You owe Mutawa in Evidence for that little trick you pulled with the Hawthorne files. And hell, without Ellison, you're at loose ends for the day anyway. Drive down, drop off the flatbed, drive back tonight. You'll get comp time for the evening hours," he added.

He'd rather have had overtime. Like that would happen. "What in the hell does Evidence need to have delivered that takes a flatbed?" Sandburg decided to ask.

"Well, it used to be a car. Now it's got a superficial resemblance to a pancake. Or maybe a waffle."

Simon, Blair deduced from the food references, had not had his breakfast.

"And they need it why?"

"To show the mental state of the man who squashed it? Hell, Blair, how do I know?"

Sandburg nodded. "Uh huh. Most lawyers just hire a photographer and pass around the pictures."

"Sandburg, ours is not to question why. Ours is just to play the damn game. Let me remind you. It plays this way. We want to be able to ask for favors in the future. Somehow, you may have noticed, I ended up with a pair of detectives who are always ass deep in the shit, forcing me to have to call in a few favors. Which we can't do if we haven't been stacking up some favors. This is a favor. It is a favor to the guys in Evidence. It is a favor to the police chief. We need to make the guys in Evidence happy because we would like their cooperation. The police chief needs to be happy so he will stay off my ass. And you want to keep me happy, which means you'll drive the damn truck."

"Yes, sir, I drive the damn truck. But you get to explain it to Jim."

"By the time he gets his sorry butt down from Seattle you'll be home and I won't have to explain anything."

Sandburg bared his teeth in one of those grins that had no humor in it at all. He had a very bad feeling about this.

Which is why he was driving down the highway in a truck built roughly the year he was born, accompanied by a rookie. A rookie so young and so green that in comparison he himself was an ancient veteran.

"So how old are you, anyway?" he asked. He wasn't an ageist, he told himself. He wasn't.

"Twenty two. How old are you?" the young man asked in return. He turned in his seat belt, pulling it out so he could sit sideways and look at Sandburg as he answered.

"Thirty one." Suddenly that sounded so old.

"Man, really? I was thinking, younger. It's the hair. I thought there was a regulation about hair," Kelley frowned, and it made his long pale face look morose.

"Captain's discretion," Sandburg said. "Damn tourists," he added as the car in front of him slowed down to ten miles under the speed limit.

"You work for Captain Banks. In Major Crime," the young man breathed respectfully.

Sandburg nodded.

"What's it like to work with him? Must be an education just to talk with him."

"He doesn't have time to talk much," he said, hoping that the kid would absorb the suggestion that he could easily be just like his hero if he tried. Ha. No such luck.

"So is the test hard? To be a detective?" asked Kelley. "I've already started to study for it."

Well how did you answer that one? The test hadn't been that hard for him, but he'd done little else but study for it most of the time he'd been at the Academy, and he'd aced it. It had been like going for a double major, like taking 18 hours of classes while working two jobs. Which he had done before. It was a little different when you were studying something outside of your field or your usual interests. Harder. Memorizing rules and regulations was different from the way he usually absorbed knowledge.

"Pretty hard," he said.

"How's Major Crime?" the rookie persisted.

"Interesting." A one word reply? Gods help him, he was channeling Jim. And he was understanding, just a little, that when there was too much that could be said, saying very little was the smart thing to do. He just didn't know this kid well enough to say what you'd have to say to describe life on the seventh floor.

"I'd like to work up there in Major Crime. Guess it's every cop's dream to work in one of the top departments, be a detective or be on one of the response teams. Swat team or HazMat. Not Domestic Violence, though," he added. "Nobody ever wants that, you ever notice?"

"Oh, yeah." The brakes squealed a bit as he slowed down a bit more. Too much traffic in the passing lane and he was too slow to join in. Crap.

"You work in Major Crimes. You must know Jim Ellison, then. Now there is one hell of a cop. He was Cop of the Year, last year!"

"And the year before," Sandburg pointed out. Just to be fair to his partner.

"Look, how often does he work out? I'd like to look like that. That man is buff!"

"He hits the gym three times a week."

"He must hit it hard," Kelley commented.

Trapped. He was trapped with Mr. Banal. There was no music, no cassette player or cd player, and the radio must have broken long ago. He had just assumed there would be a radio, and there you go. Wrong again. Could it get any worse?

He should have known better.

"Uh...look, could you pull off up there at the rest area?" Kelley asked a little later.

With a glance in his far mirror, Sandburg said, "Sorry."

"I kind of need to...."

"Kelley, you're going to have to climb in the back and find a pop bottle or something, because I am not pulling off this highway for any reason at all," Sandburg said grimly, his eyes on his side mirror.

"But...!"

"Because," Sandburg went on, "I think we're being followed and I am not going to make it easy on them."

"Followed?" Kelley looked behind him, his face going a little pale.

"White truck. It's been with us for the last hour or so. Maybe before. Wasn't sure at first but I've slowed down, sped up, taken the detour through Hill Springs and I know I'm being followed. The question in my mind is, what do they want? The truck, the cargo, me, or you?"

"ME?" the rookie asked, obviously surprised.

"I'm wondering. Why were you sent along with me?" Sandburg asked.

"Well, my partner is out sick, so our patrol car was given to another team, because their's got shot up last night during a robbery. The assignment officer gave me a choice of working the desk or helping file. Then when they asked for volunteers I thought it would be better than either of those. I asked the duty officer what I would be doing, and he said I was supposed to ride along, keep out of trouble and do whatever the Detective told me to do."

"So right now I want you to get on the radio and see if you can raise the state patrol."

"Yes, sir, but I've never used this sort before. Take me a minute to figure it out."

"That," Sandburg said, "is because the unit came with the truck, original equipment. I've never seen anything that old, either." He glanced in the mirror, changed lanes and asked, "How's it going?"

"Can't figure it...yeah, here, okay. What do I say?"

Sandburg did not sigh-not audibly, anyway. He'd had students like this for years. He knew what to do. "After you make contact and identify yourself, request that the state patrol send a car to join us en route. I'd take an unmarked car if they have it. Our friends have never been close enough for me to get the plate number, so I want them to do that for me and then run it. Got that?"

"Yes, sir."

Yes sir. That was strange stuff. "After that I want you to see if they can find out what is so special about this heap we're haulin'."

"Yes, sir."

Sandburg shook his head and glanced back at the load. Sure, that had once been one fine automobile. Thirty nine thousand dollars of almost brand new car, crunched and twisted. Looked like Godzilla had stomped it. But why hadn't the lawyers just taken a picture of it? Huh. His instincts said that he wasn't the reason they were being followed. The kid next to him wasn't the reason either. It was the cargo.

Damn. Because it would be easy to ditch the truck and lose those guys. But if the truck was what they wanted that would play into their hands. He hammered lightly on the wheel with his fist and let his paranoia run free as he wondered if being assigned to this lumbering old dinosaur was all part of somebody's plan.

And what was the plan? If it were _his_ plan, he'd get them to stop the truck, tie them up, toss them out in a quiet place and just drive off with the load. They wouldn't be missed for what, hours? Of course, the variation of this plan that added a couple of quick bullets into the equation might be the one they favored. Yeah, that would be his luck. He checked the mirror again, wondering if the slow-Jones in front of him was part of the plan. The white truck was about five cars back. Closer than before.

"Problem with the radio?" he asked, holding back his impatience.

"Yeah. It looks like it should work, but all I get is static. Nothing looks loose," he added, and then whacked it with his hand.

"I don't think that will help." His paranoia was now up another notch as he wondered if the radio had failed from age or if it had a little assistance. He should have checked it himself before they left, but no, he'd trusted that something right out of the yard would be in working condition. Geez, he was stupid sometimes. One handed, he dug around until he unearthed his cellphone from his inner pocket. He dialed a number, braked a little for that idiot in front of him, and waited.

"Banks."

"Captain, Sandburg. I..."

"Sandburg? What the hell has gone wrong?" Banks barked.

"I'm not sure I like the assumption that just because it's me calling that something's wrong," Sandburg said.

"Because even though you drive me crazy, Sandburg, not even you would call me up just to chat. And I don't have any time for this, so just spit it out."

"Right. We're just outside Lakebridge, the radio on this heap doesn't work, we're being followed by two guys in a white pickup and maybe by a guy in an old Datsun, and just to make it interesting, the oil light on this rig has started flickering on and off. Oh, and the guy with me graduated from the Academy last month. Not that I'm prejudiced here, seeing as how I've only been out a year myself, but I think it's a factor in the equation. If you know what I mean."

"I do. I'm on it. Fifteen minutes."

"FYI, I only have about an hour and a half of time on this battery,"

"And the connection is crap. I can hear. I should have kept you on the paperwork."

"You got that right, Captain. Later." Sandburg tucked the phone away and said, "If you really do need to piss, I wasn't joking about the bottle. I don't want half your mind on your bladder. Go take care of it now."

The rookie turned red but did as he was asked. Sandburg was glad he didn't have Sentinel hearing. Or smell, for that matter. He changed lanes. The truck behind him did not. It picked up a little speed. Mmmm.

Kelley crawled back up into the seat. Sandburg said, "At the Academy. What were your scores on the range?"

Kelley turned a deeper shade of red. "I...I'm...only good with stationary targets. Uh. Not. Moving ones...my total score pulled me up. I'm still working on it. Every week."

"Good plan. I wasn't good at first either. How are you at taking orders?"

"Top of the class," Kelley joked.

Sandburg nodded. "I don't know what's going to happen, but-gods I can't believe I'm going to say this-if I tell you to stay in the truck, stay in the truck. I tell you to run, run like hell. I don't think they're going to try anything until after the I13 turn off. Half the traffic will drop off, and then the road starts to climb. By then, I hope we have an official escort and with luck our anonymous friends back there will decide we're just too much trouble. If they don't, if they make a move-we may have to get a bit creative. It depends on if they try to force us off the road, or want to stop us. If they want something from us or just want to eliminate us.

"Best case scenario is that I'm totally wrong, in which case there will be embarrassing moments in your future, but take it from me, that you can live through. Worst case-well, if they try to take out the truck by shooting the driver, you may have to take over. For the next ten miles you're going to get a crash course in driving this behemoth."

"I don't think I-" the panic in his voice was clearly saying he didn't think much of that idea at all.

"Not that hard. It's not likely to happen, but hey. All knowledge is good." He checked his mirrors again and said, "Could be useful that the radio isn't working, should they be tuned in to police channels. They won't know we're onto them. I want you to keep an eye on traffic. I'm the slowest thing on the road and anything that doesn't leave us in the dust is suspect. We know about the white pickup, but you know, if it were my dastardly plan, I'd use at least three vehicles. I'd run one in front, two in back, until I was ready to move. I want you to keep an eye out for the white truck and an old blue Datsun. The Datsun's either in such bad shape it's been stuck pacing us, or it's part of the plan. If they pass, it will be on your side, and I'll want a report from you on how many in the car, and if you can see weapons. Or tell me if it looks like they are maneuvering to get close to us."

"Right."

They were halfway through the impromptu driving lesson when the phone buzzed. Sandburg stopped in mid word and pulled it up to his ear.

"Still being followed?" Simon asked without preamble.

"Appears so," Sandburg said, glancing at the mirror again. "They've moved closer."

"State Patrol has a car on the way. With you in ten to fifteen minutes. They're closer than any of the local municipal officers. By the way, are you following the travel plan the original driver turned in?"

"I took a detour through Hill Springs that wasn't on the list. Otherwise, yeah. Why?"

"We're going to change it. We want you to stay on the highway, don't take the mountain turn off. We want you to go to Fenton, which is the next big town. You'll go to the police garage there, and wait until they bring you another cab. Then you'll start off again this afternoon with a working rig and a police escort. By the way, your partner called. Does he ask if something is wrong? No he does not. He says they've postponed his testimony until tomorrow, and where the hell is Sandburg? So I told him. And I still haven't regained the use of that ear. He's looking into air schedules now, to meet up with you in Fenton. I told him the department wouldn't pay for it, and I won't repeat what he said the department could do with travel allowance disbursements."

"Whoa," Sandburg said respectfully.

"Keep a lookout for the State Patrol car. It's unmarked, green, but with state plates." Sandburg muffled a laugh. "Yeah, I know, like that isn't a dead giveaway. Later." Simon abruptly ended the call.

"Well, the cavalry is on the way." Sandburg announced, tucking his phone into his front shirt pocket. "Keep an eye out for a green unmarked Smokie, state plates, should be showing up in ten or fifteen minutes."

"Good, because the Datsun is coming up beside us and there's three guys in it. They look like bad news," Kelley added.

"Great. There's two in the truck, but it's still five cars back. We're not supposed to take the mountain turn off, but go down to Fenton. Wonder if our friends know the travel plan? If they do, it will alert them that something's strange when we don't turn off." Sandburg started chewing on his lower lip.

"Datsun is moving up. In front of us," Kelley reported.

"So not happy," Sandburg muttered, as another red light flickered briefly on his dashboard. He was forced to slow a little as the road curved.

The phone beeped again. "Sandburg."

"Shit, Sandburg. I leave you alone for one day. One day, and...."

"Hello to you, too. And where are you, by the way? Sounds noisy."

"Caught a ride with a Coast Guard copter. I'm...."

"Riding to the rescue, and may I say? Thank you."

"My own fault for leaving Mr. Trouble Magnet without a keeper."

"Hey! I have a rookie named Kelley on the job."

"Drew the short straw, did he?"

"Hell no. He volunteered."

Ellison laughed. "Well, a day with you should cure him of _that_ bad habit. What's it look like on your end?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Good question. I think I'm developing those cop instincts because I have nothing I can put a finger on, but these guys are seriously pinging my radar. One white truck, one blue Datsun waltzing with me down the road, all prim and proper but following just a tad too zealously. They want me. I can tell," he joked.

Ellison snorted. "Everybody wants you, Sandburg, what can I say. I've got an ETA for Fenton of forty-five minutes. How about you?"

"Amazing coincidence. About the same." The connection developed static and he held the phone away from his ear until it settled down. "See you in Fenton."

"Stay sharp."

"Always." Sandburg thumbed off the phone and asked, "Where are they?"

"Two cars ahead," Kelley reported.

"My partner," Sandburg said, "grabbed a lift in a helicopter so the odds will soon be better. He's meeting us in Fenton. This is assuming they don't make a move first. Which they might when they see we aren't following the plan."

They drove without speaking for quite awhile, Sandburg spending almost as much time looking in the mirror as he did ahead.

Finally Kelley said, "There's a green car coming up behind."

"So there is. State plates, too. Could be the good guys. Only eight miles to the turn-off. This is good," he said, as if trying to convince himself. The green car fell back until it was behind the white truck. Sandburg checked his mirrors again and tapped nervously on the wheel. The oil light blinked off, then on again, then flickered. He gave a sigh as he sighted his exit and started to slow down.

Oh, yeah. Everybody wanted this exit. They went down the ramp like a duck with three ducklings, the Datsun sliding in just ahead of him and the white truck and then the state car falling in behind.

They came to a stop at the stop sign at the bottom of the exit ramp. Sandburg was tense, but nothing happened, and he pulled onto the two lane which led to Fenton. Waiting....

He rode the Datsun's tail, forcing them to pick up speed. Tried to pass but was stymied by the traffic coming from the other direction. Beside him, Kelley was tense, leaning forward.

"Now. It's going down now," Sandburg said as he saw something glint in the window of the car behind him. He floored it. The truck lunged forward and into the other lane. His passenger eyed the oncoming traffic, which was way too close in his estimation, and clutched the car door as they swung around and in front of the Datsun, just avoiding a collision with a truck in the other lane. The blare of the horn followed them down the road.

"He's got a rifle!" Kelley gasped, eyes glued to the mirror.

"I saw. Pointed at us, too. Get your gun out," Sandburg ordered though gritted teeth. The road followed the curve of the low hills. The side mirror Kelley was using blossomed into a web of cracks.

"They're shooting!"

"I noticed." Sandburg was focused on the red lights blinking into existence one by one on his dash. "We're not going to make it into Fenton. Hold on." The state patrol car had moved up close to the pickup, which swerved and rammed it hard, sending it across the road. The car's driver fought frantically and managed to keep out of the ditch, but they had lost all forward momentum. He got the car started again but he was far behind the convoy by then.

"Oh, God," Kelley muttered, and twisted under his seat belt, but there was no clear shot. He fumbled with the belt, hit the release button and got up on his knees on the seat. A bullet hit the back of the cab, ricocheting off. Kelly lost all color.

"Deep breath," Sandburg said. The Datsun was still ahead of them. A head leaned out of the passenger's window. The man looked behind, then jerked his head inside. "We're bigger than they are, but if they shoot out a tire we are in deep shit." The truck lurched. Sandburg fought the wheel. "Can you get any shot at all?"

"Sorry. Sorry, I just don't... I know they climb out the windows of moving cars in movies and TV but..." Kelley gulped and looked frantically around. There was no back window as might be found in a car.

"Nah, that would just make you a really good target. Get my cell phone out and c....damn!" He fought to keep the truck on the road. The curve was a bit too tight. Kelley finally got off a shot at the Datsun and hit the back window. It turned into a spiderweb of cracks. He'd been aiming at a tire. He tried again. And again.

"Dammit! It's just-they're too close on one side and in the blind spot on the other. We need..."

Sandburg interrupted. "Jim Ellison in a Coast Guard helicopter dropping down from the sky?"

"Yeah, that'd...whoa?" he was peering up because yeah, there it was. The big machine was angling down towards the road while swinging wide to circle them, then it turned in place and began to follow the small group of vehicles.

Sandburg put on the brakes, one eye on the gauges. "Hold on," he said "I think something's going to...."

The `something' in the engine gave way with an ominous grinding, followed by the teeth-torturing screech of metal on metal. It sounded as if the whole damn engine had fallen out. Smoke started to billow out from beneath the hood.

"Look for the fire extinguisher!" Sandburg shouted as he fought the steering. They left the road with a bounce, flew over the ditch and jackknifed so that first the cab and then the truck struck the row of trees. Which stopped them nicely.

And then Kelley said "What the hell?" because there was a swirl of twenty dollar bills coming in his window.

"Extinguisher!" Sandburg yelled. Kelley handed it over because the trunk of a tree blocked his door, and he scrambled out after Sandburg on the driver's side. On the road the cars had been blocked by the chopper as it landed, behind them the state patrol pulled up. Jim Ellison ran up with another fire extinguisher, tossed it to Kelley and passed at a run, gun drawn.

A few minutes later the fire was out, the bad guys were in custody, the state patrol was directing traffic and helicopter blades had finally stopped moving, and the last of the twenty dollar bills were spiraling out of the sky.

"I think I figured out why they were following us," Kelley said as he snagged a bill as it drifted by. Then realized he hadn't actually said it to anyone, because wow, that really _was_ Jim Ellison. He had Sandburg in a sort of a one-armed hug. Sandburg looked squashed but jubilant.

When he finally let go, Ellison said, "You are never going to be able to tease me again about cracking up my trucks, you know that, don't you? Look what you did to the damn thing!"

And Sandburg said, "Kelley, want you to meet my partner, Jim Ellison. Ellison, Kevin Kelley."

Ellison stuck his hand out. "Thanks for taking care of my partner."

"Any time." To be fair he said, "The truck wasn't his fault. Look, are we supposed to be picking up all this money?" It just wasn't right, leaving it laying around this way.

Ellison said, "No. First, we secure any money left in that," he pointed to the wreck on top of the bigger wreck. "Then we sort out the jurisdiction questions with the state patrol, call Simon and drop the problem of getting that car where it's going in _his_ lap, and I suspect we're going to leave you here to look after Cascade's interests tonight because Sandburg and I have to be in court tomorrow."

"Sorry," Sandburg said over his shoulder to Kelley, as Ellison casually boosted him up on the flatbed.

"No problem," Kelley said, climbing up himself to peer into the sprung trunk. "Wow. There must be a million dollars in there."

Sandburg nodded. "Either somebody wasn't being honest with his lawyer or somebody's lawyer needs a little ethics investigation. Seeing as how it was a lawyer's request that got this little puppy out of the pound." He was pulling latex gloves out of his pocket. "Kel, would you get my backpack? It's behind the seat on my side. Dump out my stuff on the seat. We'll stuff the money in there."

Kelley felt a little like a younger brother sent to the movies with a quarter to get him out of the way, and he wondered just a bit-and with a pang of disappointment-if they were getting him out of the way to pocket some of the money for themselves, so he worked quickly and quietly and hurried back, coming up on them abruptly. He then flushed a fire-engine red. No, they weren't playing sticky-fingers with the money. They were playing...kissy face. With each other.

Whoa.

Startled, he tripped and fell flat on his face. Thus he became the only injury of the day. The cut bled like a waterfall, but it turned out Ellison has medic training and the truck had a first aid kit. While he was being bandaged, a car full of cops from Fenton arrived to help pick up the money. Later, everyone assumed he was injured in the chase or the wreck and he acquired the beginnings of a reputation and the sort of scar that makes you look tough without damaging your good looks.

He was going to need the reputation.

* * *

"So," said Simon Banks, "No. It's your own fault."

"No it's not!" Sandburg whined, clutching his hair in frustration.

"Yes it is. It happened on your watch. You have to take the consequences."

"How was I to know the trunk was full of money? And now we have to testify at that drug trial, too!" Sandburg moaned.

Ellison chimed in. "And you have to admit, the city never would have known about the insurance fraud down at the budget office if they hadn't slipped up with that truck they had the motor pool give Sandburg."

Banks groaned. "Deliberately setting it up so that it would blow on the road out of state instead of just being retired and sold off. The insurance money went back into general fund instead of the motor pool but not before it sat in an account for most of a year. All those people wanted was the interest. Do you know their schemes had netted them almost a hundred thousand dollars? Just by juggling the interest?"

"I know I have weeks in court to look forward to." Sandburg complained. "Look, Simon, we _have_ to have some help. You gotta do something!" The whine was back in his voice and it was pitiful. Simon broke.

"Look, I can't get you a secretary. Or even more time from the secretarial pool. We've used more than our share. But there are some rookie officers we can use, we got a new batch under that community grant. I can assign you one. I haven't before because we agreed that the fewer people involved, the better we could keep the Sentinel thing secret. But if you want to take the chance...."

"Somebody to do paperwork," Ellison breathed.

"Leg-work," Sandburg answered happily. "Hell, if he could just answer the phone!"

"He?" Simon asked, eyebrow up.

"Hey, we don't want to be accused to relegating a female officer to the desk work," Sandburg pointed out. "That might look sexist. And also. I have somebody in mind. That guy Kelley. He's involved with both cases anyway, so we might as well coordinate it." Besides, the man had seen them kissing, and hadn't said anything. Proving that he was either fairly liberal or just knew how to keep his mouth shut. Both valuable qualities. Maybe it could really work out. He looked hopefully at his captain.

"Fine. I'll call. Meanwhile, gentlemen, your paperwork awaits you," he said, jerking his thumb in the direction of their desks. He watched them file out. When the door shut, he didn't pick up the phone right away. Instead, he sipped his coffee and thought it through for a second time. Well, hell. It just might work. Possibly they'd have to rotate rookies through every few months, so they wouldn't count against his permanent roster allocation. Maybe he could get some who were on the injured lists. In fact, come to think of it, what better education could you have for certain aspects of police work than to do paperwork with Ellison the Anal and Sandburg the Eloquent?

And meanwhile, a moment of silence for poor Mr. Kelley, about to re-enter the Sandburg/Ellison Zone. Banks gave a chuckle and reached for the phone.

* * *

End

Fixing the Paperwork Problem by Tazy: alihotsy@gimmefic.net  
Author and story notes above.

Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount.


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